Note's been placed?
Check.
Reunited with his teammates?
1/2. We can work with this.
Check.
Payload secured?
Bound and gagged.
Check.
Punishment for Ivan?
He saw various ropes and blocks of wood piled up near the center of the room. Near that was a jet pack, filled with fuel, jet fuel to be precise. SOTF's first recorded crucifixion? How about the first Crucifixion-quasi-necklacing? Burn his ass on the cross. That'll teach him. That'll teach everyone. His roasted carcass burning through the night will make the perfect backdrop for the Respects victory into endgame.
Check.
Armed to the teeth?
Fisk smiled. "Check."
He looked at his partner. "Well, we've waited long enough, we know she's at least alive, else the announcements would've mentioned it. No way she'd have gotten away with what she did if she was going to die too. She'll know where to meet us." He handed his partner the shotgun that previously belonged to the payload, that previously belonged to them.
"I figure we should start the show momentarily." Fisk racked his machine gun back. One last magazine for the game, already a quarter down, but when a full drum is one hundred and twenty bullets, three fourths of that could be spent liberally. He looked back at the payload.
He pitied her in a way. Shouldn't have gotten involved, would've never worked out. Sitting there, forced to look at what happened to her friend who also got dragged into it. Maybe he should've covered that up. Maybe they shouldn't have tried to be so defiant when he gave them a chance. Figured he should share his last rites for her, she deserves that.
Fisk stepped over the body, and loomed down over the tied up individual. He squatted down, resting his arm on his typewriter. He sighed.
"Look..."
"I get it. It's rough losing people. Believe me, I know."
"I got a confession..."
"I take no joy in this. No, it's true. I honestly feel pretty awful about this, and I'm sorry it's got to be this way, and I'm sorry that you got pulled into this by those shitty lying fucks. I mean Ivan and Akeno, but, I guess also the producers for this. I never wanted things to get this bad. Never intended for any of this."
"I just wanted to get my friends home."
Fisk looked away. Watched his partner, watched the doorway. He looked back at the payload.
"But as fate, and these fuckass producers would have it, I can't have that, so... I gotta settle for this. I don't blame you. You were tricked and bamboozled by a bunch of fake ass charlatans who needed meat shields to protect them from me, and now one of them's gone at the cost of your friend...
It's... a common trend amongst them if I am to be honest with you."
"Look, before this game I considered you someone to be amicable with. Same with Lucia, but you guys picked the wrong side, like Gregory did. Difference was, you guys weren't traitors, you were loyal to the end, even if those shitheads that recruited you bailed on you. I promised Ivan that..."
"That if he didn't show up I'd torture you to death, and bring him the remains. I'm not gonna do that. Unfortunately I have to make it look like I did, if that's the case, but I plan on euthanizing you long before that happens. You have my word I'll make it as painless as possible with the tools I have equipped."
"Unfortunately, I've also lied to Ivan when I'd say I'd let you go if he did in fact show up. Sorry, but you're too dangerous to let go. I know it seems like shit luck on your part, but this game's been rigged from the start."
"For both of us, to be honest."
Fisk stood up, holding his tommy gun.
"Again I don't enjoy this, but I will be completely honest with you..."
"I'm gonna enjoy making Ivan suffer. I'm ecstatic. Anxious... Hell, if we're really being honest, it's like Christmas morning, knowing my rivalry with him is all about to end."
Fisk turned around, and grabbed the boombox, leaving it by the door. He was excited. He couldn't wait. That son of a bitch was going to suffer for every transgression he's committed against him, against his friends, tonight. Grinning ear to ear, he turned the volume knob to 11. He looked up at his partner. Then the payload.
"Get comfortable! Just because it's the last night of your life doesn't mean you gotta be so grim about it; so enjoy the show!"
They all wanted a show, he'd give them one. This dance was in honor of his friends. Soon, they'd be avenged, and Fisk could be at peace, at least for the most part. Maybe not, but he'll figure out when he gets there. This dance was meant for when he got his friends out. The big choreographed victory routine. Would've been great with six. Sadly, the world will have to settle for one.
He turned on the boombox, and stepped into the center of the room.
Fisk held his rifle in his hands. He stepped forward. Then he stepped to the left. Then he stepped back. Then he stepped right. Then he stepped forward. Then Right. Then Back. Then Left.
Then the beat dropped.
Fisk exploded into movement, robotic yet fluid. Legs glid along the ground as his arms jerked back and forth along each other, the rifle passing between hands. Arms exploded outward as his legs shuffled around, he closed up, and gripped the rifle close like a guitar, one hand on the buttstock, and another on the barrel. He strummed at it, leaning his head and chest back. He raised one leg, as the other pivoted him to the right, facing the doorway. Chest rocked back and forth before facing the center of the room again, his arms shot out, locking his elbows straight. He leaned his head in, and slid his rifle to the right, walking through like a door way, until he was holding it one armed again.
He began to move in Elvis-esque cheoreography, holding the rifle like a microphone, legs spread out, pelvis forward and chest back, he turned to the left and began prancing in that direction, one leg in front of the other, walking like an Egyptian, before grasping his rifle with both hands, and leaning into it, like a lover. He bucked his knees and shot his pelvis forward, before slowly straightening out, his hand caressing it's way up the barrel.
He straightened out again, sliding the rifle to the left, walking through like a doorway again, before flamingo walking in a straight line, rifle held in one arm. It switched hands again, and Fisk moonwalked backwards, legs moving in a wormlike fashion. He stopped and stepped forward, straightening out and raising his gun to the sky after a pelvic thrust. He began to slowly glide it down below his waist, to his knees, before closing in and enveloping it.
His legs opened out and he striked a pose, before hopping back and forth between legs, shaking his head and kicking his leg back, holding his gun like a glam rock super star. He straightened out, and held the rifle in one hand once more, before facing the center of the room again. He began to moonwalk backwards, as his upper body cha-cha'd it's way with it, before he stopped.
He grasped his tommy gun with both hands like a lover once more, and held it close to him. Pressing his cheek against the barrel and tilting his head back, he moonwalked and slithered like a snake, kicking his legs out to the side, and performing a pirouette. He walked through the gun like a doorway once more, before pulling it close and jumping into the air. He moonwalked again, before performing the same robotic-yet fluid motions that started with the song. He shuffled with his gun, prepared to do it again, until the song was over.
A lot of preparation was put into this, and Fisk would not be the one to disappoint.
Tinnitus
Private
Tinnitus
Catche thinks my squirrel is Fisk so here's my daily reminder that he is not.
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carduinal-cyn
- Posts: 324
- Joined: Sun Oct 11, 2020 5:56 pm
- Team Affiliation: Emmy's Selkies
She was only out for a moment.
Olivia took a heavy breath in, still reeling from the hole in her shoulder, until the piece of cloth slipped past her lips.
Her eyes snapped open; she tried to sit up, only to struggle against her bindings. Her stomach made a rumbling lurch to one side; she let loose an angry, muffled growl. She could feel her gorge rise in her throat. In desperation, she dragged her gag-covered face along the floor until it slipped enough to let her vomit.
Then a shadow fell across her field of vision, and she found herself staring once again at the twisted face of Fisk Bateman.
The madman ran his mouth again — another villain monologue, she thought to herself, nothing but death threats and false regrets. She tuned him out as he rambled, traces of stomach acid still drooling out. Why bother? Why give him the satisfaction? Her head ached, and she could feel her consciousness hovering over the abyss. She wanted to sleep again, to spare herself the embarrassment. Her eyes focused and unfocused and blurred and sharpened.
No. No, she couldn't.
Olivia shuddered and forced herself to blink. When her vision readjusted, there was a small grey shape perched atop one of the porcelain shards: her beloved cockatiel. Relief washed over her. Everything was safe with Holly. Such a smart bird, she thought. Holly would chew clean through the ropes for her, peck out Fisk's eyes until he had no choice but to flee. She would—
"Fweee-oo!" Holly chirruped, completely unaware of the danger.
Liv's heart froze at the sound. Her bird's cover was blown. Fisk had already stomped Lucia's head into mush; what would stop him from shooting Holly in cold blood? NO!! every part of her but her voice screamed. He'll kill you! Don't make a sound! The cockatiel responded as she usually did: with a little bob of her head and a raspy squeak. But the boy standing over them simply continued crowing about victory and violence. Then, to her utter confusion, he switched on a boombox — where did he get that? — and broke into ridiculous dance, to the tune of a painfully '80s acoustic guitar. There was a bizarre, artificial sensuality to his movements, like a computer trying to ape what it had seen on TikTok. The distressed damsel formerly known as Olivia del Rio burst out in spluttering laughter.
Holly stretched her wings and alighted atop her owner's bound body, twittering in harmony with the lyrics. Olivia's eyes flicked back to the cockatiel as she flew off again, stopping to flap above an especially ponderous shard a few feet away.
"Good girl," Liv whispered. "Now, stay calm. I'm still here, OK? I'm still here..."
While Fisk busied himself with dance moves inspired by Elvis and David Bowie, his captive started to do the worm. With every beat, she inched herself closer to the shard. To Holly. To her freedom.
Olivia took a heavy breath in, still reeling from the hole in her shoulder, until the piece of cloth slipped past her lips.
Her eyes snapped open; she tried to sit up, only to struggle against her bindings. Her stomach made a rumbling lurch to one side; she let loose an angry, muffled growl. She could feel her gorge rise in her throat. In desperation, she dragged her gag-covered face along the floor until it slipped enough to let her vomit.
Then a shadow fell across her field of vision, and she found herself staring once again at the twisted face of Fisk Bateman.
The madman ran his mouth again — another villain monologue, she thought to herself, nothing but death threats and false regrets. She tuned him out as he rambled, traces of stomach acid still drooling out. Why bother? Why give him the satisfaction? Her head ached, and she could feel her consciousness hovering over the abyss. She wanted to sleep again, to spare herself the embarrassment. Her eyes focused and unfocused and blurred and sharpened.
No. No, she couldn't.
Olivia shuddered and forced herself to blink. When her vision readjusted, there was a small grey shape perched atop one of the porcelain shards: her beloved cockatiel. Relief washed over her. Everything was safe with Holly. Such a smart bird, she thought. Holly would chew clean through the ropes for her, peck out Fisk's eyes until he had no choice but to flee. She would—
"Fweee-oo!" Holly chirruped, completely unaware of the danger.
Liv's heart froze at the sound. Her bird's cover was blown. Fisk had already stomped Lucia's head into mush; what would stop him from shooting Holly in cold blood? NO!! every part of her but her voice screamed. He'll kill you! Don't make a sound! The cockatiel responded as she usually did: with a little bob of her head and a raspy squeak. But the boy standing over them simply continued crowing about victory and violence. Then, to her utter confusion, he switched on a boombox — where did he get that? — and broke into ridiculous dance, to the tune of a painfully '80s acoustic guitar. There was a bizarre, artificial sensuality to his movements, like a computer trying to ape what it had seen on TikTok. The distressed damsel formerly known as Olivia del Rio burst out in spluttering laughter.
Holly stretched her wings and alighted atop her owner's bound body, twittering in harmony with the lyrics. Olivia's eyes flicked back to the cockatiel as she flew off again, stopping to flap above an especially ponderous shard a few feet away.
"Good girl," Liv whispered. "Now, stay calm. I'm still here, OK? I'm still here..."
While Fisk busied himself with dance moves inspired by Elvis and David Bowie, his captive started to do the worm. With every beat, she inched herself closer to the shard. To Holly. To her freedom.
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MurderWeasel
- Posts: 3432
- Joined: Mon Aug 06, 2018 9:56 am
- Team Affiliation: Jewel's Leviathans
((Mandy Gross continued from Hit 'Em Up))
"Uh," Mandy said, taking three steps away from the door and gingerly poking the squirming girl on the floor in the calf with the toe of her boot, "maybe don't?"
It was good to be back with someone, but that it was Fisk made things a little harder for Mandy. It wasn't that she distrusted him; of the other two members of the team, Fisk had been by far the more enthusiastic and welcoming. It was just, he was on some whole other level, face hacked up but still able to come up with these speeches and slip straight into a smoother dance than Mandy had ever managed in her life—and she didn't even think she was bad at dancing. Fisk was a force in his own right, but an erratic one, and Mandy never knew what was going to happen next. She didn't have to understand to follow, but she'd sort of lost the plot on why they were keeping Olivia alive if they were just going to eventually shoot her anyways, and why, that being the case, they were telling her that part.
Verity, by comparison, was weird and quiet and kind of awkward, but had always been like that. She wasn't more approachable, but she felt like she was, as though the level she was operating on was closer to Mandy's. But Verity hadn't been out by the pool when Mandy hurried by. The door had been tied shut with Akeno's jacket, but there was nobody around and Mandy had been way too spooked to make a more thorough investigation. With Ivan potentially hot on her heels, the idea of Akeno jumping out from behind an ice cream cart to bodily throw her off the ship was just too powerful to ignore.
But Akeno wasn't a concern anymore. Apparently, Verity had won that fight, and had at least survived long enough not to share announcement space. She was out there, somewhere, but there was no telling the precise location, and it made more sense to wait where she knew they were.
It was just kind of scary that Verity wasn't the only one aware of their location. Fisk had laid the bait for Ivan, and while it seemed inevitable that the boy be one of the final hurdles for the team to overcome, Mandy felt like they could've perhaps been more prepared for the encounter. It wasn't like she'd fared that well last time, and what would really be different now?
Well, she had Seo-yun's shotgun back, for one. How and why it had come to be here was a mystery for another time; what mattered was that Mandy still had the bullets for it, so it was loaded back up and comfortably in hand, the pistol returned to its hiding place inside the onesie. She felt better with the familiar weapon back in her hands, almost enough to let the unease of this horrible room fade away. It still looked like a war zone, tables blown to splinters, carpet scorched and soaked, a bunch of bodies to the point Mandy wasn't even sure who they all were; it was hard to keep her gaze off them, hard to forget the pain and fear every time she caught sight of light reflecting off pieces of the shattered chandelier.
So instead she looked at Olivia and wiggled the shotgun for emphasis, her eyebrows squishing together. Olivia had always seemed kind of cool and athletic, able to charm and turn heads, but she wasn't so impressive now, especially because she'd decided to run around without pants. It was actually sort of pathetic and Mandy was thinking maybe it was about time to put her out of her misery, but this was Fisk's plan so she'd play it his way.
"Just stay still," Mandy said. She wanted to offer some reason, like they wouldn't hurt her or something, but Fisk had just explained they were gonna kill her no matter what, so it didn't really feel worth it to try to spin that.
"Uh," Mandy said, taking three steps away from the door and gingerly poking the squirming girl on the floor in the calf with the toe of her boot, "maybe don't?"
It was good to be back with someone, but that it was Fisk made things a little harder for Mandy. It wasn't that she distrusted him; of the other two members of the team, Fisk had been by far the more enthusiastic and welcoming. It was just, he was on some whole other level, face hacked up but still able to come up with these speeches and slip straight into a smoother dance than Mandy had ever managed in her life—and she didn't even think she was bad at dancing. Fisk was a force in his own right, but an erratic one, and Mandy never knew what was going to happen next. She didn't have to understand to follow, but she'd sort of lost the plot on why they were keeping Olivia alive if they were just going to eventually shoot her anyways, and why, that being the case, they were telling her that part.
Verity, by comparison, was weird and quiet and kind of awkward, but had always been like that. She wasn't more approachable, but she felt like she was, as though the level she was operating on was closer to Mandy's. But Verity hadn't been out by the pool when Mandy hurried by. The door had been tied shut with Akeno's jacket, but there was nobody around and Mandy had been way too spooked to make a more thorough investigation. With Ivan potentially hot on her heels, the idea of Akeno jumping out from behind an ice cream cart to bodily throw her off the ship was just too powerful to ignore.
But Akeno wasn't a concern anymore. Apparently, Verity had won that fight, and had at least survived long enough not to share announcement space. She was out there, somewhere, but there was no telling the precise location, and it made more sense to wait where she knew they were.
It was just kind of scary that Verity wasn't the only one aware of their location. Fisk had laid the bait for Ivan, and while it seemed inevitable that the boy be one of the final hurdles for the team to overcome, Mandy felt like they could've perhaps been more prepared for the encounter. It wasn't like she'd fared that well last time, and what would really be different now?
Well, she had Seo-yun's shotgun back, for one. How and why it had come to be here was a mystery for another time; what mattered was that Mandy still had the bullets for it, so it was loaded back up and comfortably in hand, the pistol returned to its hiding place inside the onesie. She felt better with the familiar weapon back in her hands, almost enough to let the unease of this horrible room fade away. It still looked like a war zone, tables blown to splinters, carpet scorched and soaked, a bunch of bodies to the point Mandy wasn't even sure who they all were; it was hard to keep her gaze off them, hard to forget the pain and fear every time she caught sight of light reflecting off pieces of the shattered chandelier.
So instead she looked at Olivia and wiggled the shotgun for emphasis, her eyebrows squishing together. Olivia had always seemed kind of cool and athletic, able to charm and turn heads, but she wasn't so impressive now, especially because she'd decided to run around without pants. It was actually sort of pathetic and Mandy was thinking maybe it was about time to put her out of her misery, but this was Fisk's plan so she'd play it his way.
"Just stay still," Mandy said. She wanted to offer some reason, like they wouldn't hurt her or something, but Fisk had just explained they were gonna kill her no matter what, so it didn't really feel worth it to try to spin that.
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The Honeless Beard
- Posts: 892
- Joined: Sat Aug 25, 2018 4:47 am
- Location: Got it? Good, now get inside.
- Team Affiliation: Emmy's Selkies
((Ivan Rodriguez, from somewhere later))
Fisk could be heard from the corridors.
Fisk got a little louder, echoing outside the banquet hall as the last notes of the jukebox warbled out.
Fisk was bellowed just outside the doorway, as the song changed.
"FISK," Ivan roared, kicking the door open with one bare foot, hands balled into fists. His eyes took in the scene - counted all four limbs on Olivia, before finally meeting Fisk's gaze.
As per the very specific instructions, there was no shotgun in sight, and Ivan was wearing a grey hoodie - hastily thrown over his bare chest, clearly much too small for him. His bag, too, was gone.
Hesitatingly, he raised both fists to the ceiling, opened his palms, and pointed all five fingers and thumbs towards the ceiling.
"Sup," he said, through clenched teeth, entire body vibrating.
Fisk could be heard from the corridors.
Fisk got a little louder, echoing outside the banquet hall as the last notes of the jukebox warbled out.
Fisk was bellowed just outside the doorway, as the song changed.
"FISK," Ivan roared, kicking the door open with one bare foot, hands balled into fists. His eyes took in the scene - counted all four limbs on Olivia, before finally meeting Fisk's gaze.
As per the very specific instructions, there was no shotgun in sight, and Ivan was wearing a grey hoodie - hastily thrown over his bare chest, clearly much too small for him. His bag, too, was gone.
Hesitatingly, he raised both fists to the ceiling, opened his palms, and pointed all five fingers and thumbs towards the ceiling.
"Sup," he said, through clenched teeth, entire body vibrating.
Right on time. Fisk stopped his dance, machine gun held by the barrel as he turned around. He didn’t bother to point it at him, would be too quick for his likes, plus he didn’t seem the type to care anyways.
“Ivan…”
“You’re always full of surprises aren’t you? So what brings you here? Doubt it’s that your heart grew three sizes today. What’re you planning?”
Fisk pointed the barrel at Olivia. “You’re not here to save her, are you?” Fisk cocked his head. He didn’t wait for an answer. “NAAAAH~ You’re not here for that. You weren’t even there for Akeno, for Rhonda, or Seth. This whole thing was never about them for you, huh?”
“This is about you and me. That little mark on your face. You never cared about anything or anyone but yourself. All you’ve ever known was what to take, and who to take it from. One of the perks of being ‘privileged’, I guess. Had everything given to you, even this game was all rolled out in red carpet, all for your favor.”
Fisk grinned, despite his eyes being full of hate.
“Daddy really pulled out all the stops for you, huh? The producers picked us for him, Emmy got picked as a mentor for you, all the other mentors cheating and telling you our location? They didn’t expect that you were supposed to be our first, out first. It’s only luck that you pulled through, unless someone warned Seth. What was the plan before me? Before I made you my bitch?”
Footsteps clanked closer.
“Gonna play your way to the end, huh? Bushwhack, kill all you meet. Go home, fuck Emmy. Be a star. Daddy’s little star.. Or were you just there to make him a star? Think Ivan, you’re so good at using people, who taught you that in the first place?”
“Ivan…”
“You’re always full of surprises aren’t you? So what brings you here? Doubt it’s that your heart grew three sizes today. What’re you planning?”
Fisk pointed the barrel at Olivia. “You’re not here to save her, are you?” Fisk cocked his head. He didn’t wait for an answer. “NAAAAH~ You’re not here for that. You weren’t even there for Akeno, for Rhonda, or Seth. This whole thing was never about them for you, huh?”
“This is about you and me. That little mark on your face. You never cared about anything or anyone but yourself. All you’ve ever known was what to take, and who to take it from. One of the perks of being ‘privileged’, I guess. Had everything given to you, even this game was all rolled out in red carpet, all for your favor.”
Fisk grinned, despite his eyes being full of hate.
“Daddy really pulled out all the stops for you, huh? The producers picked us for him, Emmy got picked as a mentor for you, all the other mentors cheating and telling you our location? They didn’t expect that you were supposed to be our first, out first. It’s only luck that you pulled through, unless someone warned Seth. What was the plan before me? Before I made you my bitch?”
Footsteps clanked closer.
“Gonna play your way to the end, huh? Bushwhack, kill all you meet. Go home, fuck Emmy. Be a star. Daddy’s little star.. Or were you just there to make him a star? Think Ivan, you’re so good at using people, who taught you that in the first place?”
Catche thinks my squirrel is Fisk so here's my daily reminder that he is not.
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The Honeless Beard
- Posts: 892
- Joined: Sat Aug 25, 2018 4:47 am
- Location: Got it? Good, now get inside.
- Team Affiliation: Emmy's Selkies
"Man, shut the fuck up."
“This fucking guy… haha-“
Fisk held his machine gun underneath his arm, as he cupped his hands in a triangle. He side eyed the camera, laughing like he heard a bad joke.
“WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE TAKLKING TO?!”
Fisk stopped in place. He pointed his gun at Ivan.
“YOU PIG FUCKING CUNT- LET ME ASK AGAIN; WHO IN THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE SPEAKING TO?!”
Fisk hipfired a Z into the ground in front of Ivan. He missed intentionally. He pointed the barrel at the bound Olivia.
“Pick your next words very, very carefully…”
Fisk held his machine gun underneath his arm, as he cupped his hands in a triangle. He side eyed the camera, laughing like he heard a bad joke.
“WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE TAKLKING TO?!”
Fisk stopped in place. He pointed his gun at Ivan.
“YOU PIG FUCKING CUNT- LET ME ASK AGAIN; WHO IN THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE SPEAKING TO?!”
Fisk hipfired a Z into the ground in front of Ivan. He missed intentionally. He pointed the barrel at the bound Olivia.
“Pick your next words very, very carefully…”
Catche thinks my squirrel is Fisk so here's my daily reminder that he is not.
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The Honeless Beard
- Posts: 892
- Joined: Sat Aug 25, 2018 4:47 am
- Location: Got it? Good, now get inside.
- Team Affiliation: Emmy's Selkies
Despite his best intentions, the Z-fire into the ground made him flinch, spinning halfway to the right as the bullets tore up the floor. Once the gunfire ceased, Ivan let out a shaky breath, lowering one foot where it had raised, glaring daggers at Fisk as he slowly regained his posture.
"I'm speaking to a fucking cheater," Ivan spat, "a fucking lackluster team builder who got in over his head. It was never about you, Fisk, it was about proving your shit-tier team you put together couldn't duel worth a fuck.
"SOTF is about winning your fucking duels. That's why endgames always splinter off into one-on-ones, that's why there are objective power fucking rankings out there listing who's pound for pound the best killer in this game. You win your duels, you advance. Jewel's 10-0, unless you count that fucking huge black kid. Karen's 10-2, maybe 10-3 if you're willing to squint. That's why the game is fucking sanctified.
"You lost your first fucking duel, you prick. You had to bring in the fucking dome squad of hippy dippy shitbirds to bail you out. You cheated on your first fucking day. So spare me your cheater talk - whatever I fucking did - you prick,"
Ivan inhaled sharply.
"Your crew," he began again, "couldn't duel their way out of a wet paper fucking bag. Giselle fucked around, found out. Jacket got fucked on. Vasily at least tried, but couldn't hack it. James never saw me coming. At least Bacchia put up a semblance of fight the first time.
"And here you fucking are, with your hostage and your neo-fucking respects and- just fucking fight me, man."
Ivan sighed.
"Just fucking fight me."
"I'm speaking to a fucking cheater," Ivan spat, "a fucking lackluster team builder who got in over his head. It was never about you, Fisk, it was about proving your shit-tier team you put together couldn't duel worth a fuck.
"SOTF is about winning your fucking duels. That's why endgames always splinter off into one-on-ones, that's why there are objective power fucking rankings out there listing who's pound for pound the best killer in this game. You win your duels, you advance. Jewel's 10-0, unless you count that fucking huge black kid. Karen's 10-2, maybe 10-3 if you're willing to squint. That's why the game is fucking sanctified.
"You lost your first fucking duel, you prick. You had to bring in the fucking dome squad of hippy dippy shitbirds to bail you out. You cheated on your first fucking day. So spare me your cheater talk - whatever I fucking did - you prick,"
Ivan inhaled sharply.
"Your crew," he began again, "couldn't duel their way out of a wet paper fucking bag. Giselle fucked around, found out. Jacket got fucked on. Vasily at least tried, but couldn't hack it. James never saw me coming. At least Bacchia put up a semblance of fight the first time.
"And here you fucking are, with your hostage and your neo-fucking respects and- just fucking fight me, man."
Ivan sighed.
"Just fucking fight me."
Fisk gripped his Tommy gun as Ivan said what he needed to say.
Duels? That’s what this was about?
Fisk leant over, gun scraping the ground by the barrel as his free hand gripped his stomach. He wheezed out a laugh. Ivan was fucking with him. Had to be. Either that or he really was brain damaged.
Fisk looked up and caught a glance of Ivan’s wondering eye. He laughed harder. It was a shrill cackle that turned into a giggle. King of Hearts was still in him, if it ever left.
“Heheh, duels?? Are you- you’re serious aren’t you?” Fisk tilted back and laughed harder.
“You motherfucker, you! Whaddya’ think this is? Fuckin’ Karate Kid. Is this the Kumite we’re in now?”
As Fisk regained his composure, he stood up straight, holding his hip with his free hand. He took a couple of breaths to get the insanity giggles out of him.
“No… No you fucking dolt, this isn’t about this at all. The bandannas, the fucking teams. Ask me something; why would I kill my friends so I can carry a bunch of ungrateful nobodies to the end? Call me a murderer, blame me for what I did to get out, and for what? Some scum sucking nobodies whose names I’d forget a week out of high school?”
“No fuck that, I wanted to get my friends home, these bastards can’t control that, won’t control it. We’re it not for you, we’d have wasted our way to endgame two days ago. We control the narrative,”
Fisk spoke, pointing to the cameras.
“Not these fucks.”
“But then you come along, kill my fucking friends, kill my raison d'être, and you want me to ‘duel’ you?”
Fisk scoffed. He pointed his machine gun at Ivan.
“That’s insulting. After everything, you and me, one on one? After I took your team out in one swoop? After I got you dead to rights, to do whatever I want to you? Now that I got the chance to pay you back for every wrong you’ve committed on all that I care about?”
“You’re crazy. You’re fucked and you know it. I own you, motherfucker, my initials are in your skull. I’m not gonna fight you, I’m gonna pick you apart piece by piece and hang up what’s left for the world to see and there’s nothing you can do about it because if you try to resist I’m just gonna do it to Olivia here instead, and then you!”
Fisk was shouting now, white knuckles gripped hand guard.
“Can you see it, or do I gotta move a little to the left for you to read my lips? Only thing I want from you is to see you strung up on that pile of trash over there so I can carve you up like Gregory and light what’s left up like a fucking bonfire!”
Duels? That’s what this was about?
Fisk leant over, gun scraping the ground by the barrel as his free hand gripped his stomach. He wheezed out a laugh. Ivan was fucking with him. Had to be. Either that or he really was brain damaged.
Fisk looked up and caught a glance of Ivan’s wondering eye. He laughed harder. It was a shrill cackle that turned into a giggle. King of Hearts was still in him, if it ever left.
“Heheh, duels?? Are you- you’re serious aren’t you?” Fisk tilted back and laughed harder.
“You motherfucker, you! Whaddya’ think this is? Fuckin’ Karate Kid. Is this the Kumite we’re in now?”
As Fisk regained his composure, he stood up straight, holding his hip with his free hand. He took a couple of breaths to get the insanity giggles out of him.
“No… No you fucking dolt, this isn’t about this at all. The bandannas, the fucking teams. Ask me something; why would I kill my friends so I can carry a bunch of ungrateful nobodies to the end? Call me a murderer, blame me for what I did to get out, and for what? Some scum sucking nobodies whose names I’d forget a week out of high school?”
“No fuck that, I wanted to get my friends home, these bastards can’t control that, won’t control it. We’re it not for you, we’d have wasted our way to endgame two days ago. We control the narrative,”
Fisk spoke, pointing to the cameras.
“Not these fucks.”
“But then you come along, kill my fucking friends, kill my raison d'être, and you want me to ‘duel’ you?”
Fisk scoffed. He pointed his machine gun at Ivan.
“That’s insulting. After everything, you and me, one on one? After I took your team out in one swoop? After I got you dead to rights, to do whatever I want to you? Now that I got the chance to pay you back for every wrong you’ve committed on all that I care about?”
“You’re crazy. You’re fucked and you know it. I own you, motherfucker, my initials are in your skull. I’m not gonna fight you, I’m gonna pick you apart piece by piece and hang up what’s left for the world to see and there’s nothing you can do about it because if you try to resist I’m just gonna do it to Olivia here instead, and then you!”
Fisk was shouting now, white knuckles gripped hand guard.
“Can you see it, or do I gotta move a little to the left for you to read my lips? Only thing I want from you is to see you strung up on that pile of trash over there so I can carve you up like Gregory and light what’s left up like a fucking bonfire!”
Catche thinks my squirrel is Fisk so here's my daily reminder that he is not.
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The Honeless Beard
- Posts: 892
- Joined: Sat Aug 25, 2018 4:47 am
- Location: Got it? Good, now get inside.
- Team Affiliation: Emmy's Selkies
Ivan's chest rose and fell rapidly after his little speech, the grey hoodie tearing slightly around the shoulders with the movement. Slowly, one hand reached backwards, feeling along the hem of the sweater, rubbing gently, calming himself.
A camera behind him showed a noticeable bulge in the hoodie, shaped vaguely like a loaf of bread along his spine. It wore at the fabric, showed signs of tearing.
"That's fine by me," Ivan said, "but I'll make you bleed first, Fisk."
A camera behind him showed a noticeable bulge in the hoodie, shaped vaguely like a loaf of bread along his spine. It wore at the fabric, showed signs of tearing.
"That's fine by me," Ivan said, "but I'll make you bleed first, Fisk."
“Yeah… You would, wouldn’t you.”
Fisk aimed down his sights. Where to hit? Groin? He’d bleed out too fast, go into shock to quick to feel anything else. Knees? Could miss up and hit the femoral artery. Bleed out too fast. The feet? He’d still have his arms to work with, too risky.
The guts? The sepsis would kill him, eventually. Could give him long enough to do what he needed before it came to that. Should give him it actually.
“You’ve always been predictable. Always down to screw someone else over to get yours. Always ready to abandon someone to save your skin. Just like Akeno…”
Fisk grinned.
“You two were made for each other.”
Fisk rested his cheek on the buttstock, finger stretching around the trigger.
“Speaking of predictable, nice hoodie. About time you put on a shirt since this game began. Why now? I thought I told you to come unarmed…”
Fisk’s teeth barred.
Fisk aimed down his sights. Where to hit? Groin? He’d bleed out too fast, go into shock to quick to feel anything else. Knees? Could miss up and hit the femoral artery. Bleed out too fast. The feet? He’d still have his arms to work with, too risky.
The guts? The sepsis would kill him, eventually. Could give him long enough to do what he needed before it came to that. Should give him it actually.
“You’ve always been predictable. Always down to screw someone else over to get yours. Always ready to abandon someone to save your skin. Just like Akeno…”
Fisk grinned.
“You two were made for each other.”
Fisk rested his cheek on the buttstock, finger stretching around the trigger.
“Speaking of predictable, nice hoodie. About time you put on a shirt since this game began. Why now? I thought I told you to come unarmed…”
Fisk’s teeth barred.
Catche thinks my squirrel is Fisk so here's my daily reminder that he is not.
And this entire time, she’d been in the kitchen, wondering what on earth the commotion was all about.
((Mary Cheung continued from My Biggest Enemy is Me, Pop a 911))
See, Mary and Chris went into the kitchen, because, like, well, kitchen. She doubted there were knives or anything, but there had to be a few remaining utensils, maybe pans or other cookware. She had… a very good idea of what kind of things a pan could do.
Even now, the sound of Leo’s arm shattering played in the back of her head. Interrupted only by--
Mary had slammed the top cabinet she was looking through closed, taking a deep breath. That was music, and it was loud and it felt like knives were being poked into her ears. Another breath, another breath.
Her first guess was that Rupert was here after all, and for some reason, he was blasting dorky old people music here too. Like, she had nothing against old people music, some was good, but why blast it here? Then she realized it was newer. More Tarantino-y.
Then, she also realized that people were shouting. A lot of clatter and commotion.
She wandered to the exit into the hall, oar in hand. Mary opened it a crack, looking out. Then, she slammed it shut a second later.
Mary curled up on the floor behind a counter, gesturing to Chris to do the same.
“Don’t look now,” she whispered. “That looks like Fisk and Ivan.”
((Mary Cheung continued from My Biggest Enemy is Me, Pop a 911))
See, Mary and Chris went into the kitchen, because, like, well, kitchen. She doubted there were knives or anything, but there had to be a few remaining utensils, maybe pans or other cookware. She had… a very good idea of what kind of things a pan could do.
Even now, the sound of Leo’s arm shattering played in the back of her head. Interrupted only by--
Mary had slammed the top cabinet she was looking through closed, taking a deep breath. That was music, and it was loud and it felt like knives were being poked into her ears. Another breath, another breath.
Her first guess was that Rupert was here after all, and for some reason, he was blasting dorky old people music here too. Like, she had nothing against old people music, some was good, but why blast it here? Then she realized it was newer. More Tarantino-y.
Then, she also realized that people were shouting. A lot of clatter and commotion.
She wandered to the exit into the hall, oar in hand. Mary opened it a crack, looking out. Then, she slammed it shut a second later.
Mary curled up on the floor behind a counter, gesturing to Chris to do the same.
“Don’t look now,” she whispered. “That looks like Fisk and Ivan.”
The voice calls out from Olivia's collar.
"You are so, so self important.
"You seriously, actually believe that you're such a gamechanger that they're sitting and plotting your downfall from the board room.
"Grow up, Fisk."
"You are so, so self important.
"You seriously, actually believe that you're such a gamechanger that they're sitting and plotting your downfall from the board room.
"Grow up, Fisk."
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DerArknight
- Posts: 682
- Joined: Thu Feb 18, 2021 9:47 pm
- Team Affiliation: Jewel's Leviathans
Looks like their lucky streak of not running into any trouble had ended.
((Chris Tyrell continued from The Jewel Made Me Do It))
The shittiest thing about this was that exploring the kitchen had been more of a way to pass time than a useful activity. They already had a gun, an axe, an oar, a bomb and a harpoon bolt. And they had enough food and water to last them three more days. And then there where the medkits from Leo, Amanda and himself in his backpack. More supplies was among the last things they needed.
But after all this time of walking around, Chris had felt like doing something else. And what was the result? Two serial killers as visitors. Awesome.
Thankfully they weren't in the main hall, but the kitchen. This place consisted of lots of kitchen stuff, a staff-only door leading into some hallways, the door Mary had locked through into the banquet hall and an opening in the wall between hall and kitchen, probably to pass food through.
Following Mary's advice, he went down behind a counter. However, before he did that, he dared to take a look through the opening.
Fisk and Ivan were indeed there, screaming at each other. Chris didn't bother listening. By now he had figured out the two must have had some kind of rivalry going on. Neither were on his team, so the best solution would be for both to just off each other.
Just when did he start thinking of two classmates killing each other as a viable solution for anything?
There was no time for such ethical questions. Not when a gunfight could break out any moment in the room next to them and the loud music made thinking difficult anyway.
To add to the chaos, there were two more people in the room. Olivia Del Rio, a girl Chris didn't know that well, being hold on the ground by...
What the hell is Mandy doing here?
It was half of a rethorical question. Her bandanna was the same as Fisk's, so she was on his side. The thing with Mandy was that she was... well, Mandy. She was a nice but naive girl who sometimes fumbled anything, wore Disney-cosplay to school and never hurt a fly. In a fictional story, she would be nothing but a comic relief character, doing some funny shenanigans on the sidelines but disappearing when things got serious. In other words, she was totally out-of-place in a grim place like SOTF.
But yet she was here.
However, taking a long look at Mandy made Chris spot something else: a weird object lying around. At first he couldn't put it into any category, but then he realized that it was something looking like a... jetpack?
Did jetpacks even exist? Up until now, Chris had assumed them to be some unrealistic sci-fi-nonsense. But this thing fit the description perfectly. It even had a very big tank.
A big tank, huh?
He wondered what the tank was filled with. What if it was another oxygen tank? The jetpack was pretty close to the kitchen, but if he fired one shot and then ducked behind a counter, maybe-
((Chris Tyrell continued from The Jewel Made Me Do It))
The shittiest thing about this was that exploring the kitchen had been more of a way to pass time than a useful activity. They already had a gun, an axe, an oar, a bomb and a harpoon bolt. And they had enough food and water to last them three more days. And then there where the medkits from Leo, Amanda and himself in his backpack. More supplies was among the last things they needed.
But after all this time of walking around, Chris had felt like doing something else. And what was the result? Two serial killers as visitors. Awesome.
Thankfully they weren't in the main hall, but the kitchen. This place consisted of lots of kitchen stuff, a staff-only door leading into some hallways, the door Mary had locked through into the banquet hall and an opening in the wall between hall and kitchen, probably to pass food through.
Following Mary's advice, he went down behind a counter. However, before he did that, he dared to take a look through the opening.
Fisk and Ivan were indeed there, screaming at each other. Chris didn't bother listening. By now he had figured out the two must have had some kind of rivalry going on. Neither were on his team, so the best solution would be for both to just off each other.
Just when did he start thinking of two classmates killing each other as a viable solution for anything?
There was no time for such ethical questions. Not when a gunfight could break out any moment in the room next to them and the loud music made thinking difficult anyway.
To add to the chaos, there were two more people in the room. Olivia Del Rio, a girl Chris didn't know that well, being hold on the ground by...
What the hell is Mandy doing here?
It was half of a rethorical question. Her bandanna was the same as Fisk's, so she was on his side. The thing with Mandy was that she was... well, Mandy. She was a nice but naive girl who sometimes fumbled anything, wore Disney-cosplay to school and never hurt a fly. In a fictional story, she would be nothing but a comic relief character, doing some funny shenanigans on the sidelines but disappearing when things got serious. In other words, she was totally out-of-place in a grim place like SOTF.
But yet she was here.
However, taking a long look at Mandy made Chris spot something else: a weird object lying around. At first he couldn't put it into any category, but then he realized that it was something looking like a... jetpack?
Did jetpacks even exist? Up until now, Chris had assumed them to be some unrealistic sci-fi-nonsense. But this thing fit the description perfectly. It even had a very big tank.
A big tank, huh?
He wondered what the tank was filled with. What if it was another oxygen tank? The jetpack was pretty close to the kitchen, but if he fired one shot and then ducked behind a counter, maybe-
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carduinal-cyn
- Posts: 324
- Joined: Sun Oct 11, 2020 5:56 pm
- Team Affiliation: Emmy's Selkies
She didn't say that.
She wished she had.
She found the nerve for a little more.
"Doesn't have to be this way, Mandy," she wheedled with a delirious smile on her face, staring up at the girl with the shotgun. "Listen to him. He just called you a scum-suckin' nobody. He said he'd forget you the minute we're out of this mess. He's the kind of psycho who does a dance right before he blows someone's face off."
Coach screamed about suicide. A bewildered Holly fluttered her wings. Olivia shut her eyes to block the noise out, from the boys and from inside her own head. She wriggled forward three inches. Stupid, stupid men, babbling about duels and honor when all their friends were dead. She cleared her throat.
"Hey, loser!" she taunted, eyes flicking to Fisk. "Before you have your crazy deathmatch and all... hear me out, will you? What the hell are you two still tryin' to prove? This Respects crap... rounding up all your friends and killing people, for what? Oh, your friends are saved, hip-hip-hurray! Your packs aren't gonna last forever. We've been running 'em dry for, what, four days now? Five? You can't make this fake team last! That bugs you, does it? Gets under your skin? I'd kick your ass if you let me out... so c'mon! Shoot me! Shoot Ivan, shoot everyone on this goddamn ship, for all I care! See what happens!"
She wriggled again. What a day to defy your captors.
"But, hey, Mandy... When you're starvin' to death. When Fisk's starvin' to death too... when he takes that knife, starts carvin' you up like a Thanksgiving turkey... Don't come crying to that girl you killed for running her mouth."
Olivia laughed, a bitter, half-mad laugh. Then she gagged, and a little more vomit dribbled from her chin.
She wished she had.
She found the nerve for a little more.
"Doesn't have to be this way, Mandy," she wheedled with a delirious smile on her face, staring up at the girl with the shotgun. "Listen to him. He just called you a scum-suckin' nobody. He said he'd forget you the minute we're out of this mess. He's the kind of psycho who does a dance right before he blows someone's face off."
Coach screamed about suicide. A bewildered Holly fluttered her wings. Olivia shut her eyes to block the noise out, from the boys and from inside her own head. She wriggled forward three inches. Stupid, stupid men, babbling about duels and honor when all their friends were dead. She cleared her throat.
"Hey, loser!" she taunted, eyes flicking to Fisk. "Before you have your crazy deathmatch and all... hear me out, will you? What the hell are you two still tryin' to prove? This Respects crap... rounding up all your friends and killing people, for what? Oh, your friends are saved, hip-hip-hurray! Your packs aren't gonna last forever. We've been running 'em dry for, what, four days now? Five? You can't make this fake team last! That bugs you, does it? Gets under your skin? I'd kick your ass if you let me out... so c'mon! Shoot me! Shoot Ivan, shoot everyone on this goddamn ship, for all I care! See what happens!"
She wriggled again. What a day to defy your captors.
"But, hey, Mandy... When you're starvin' to death. When Fisk's starvin' to death too... when he takes that knife, starts carvin' you up like a Thanksgiving turkey... Don't come crying to that girl you killed for running her mouth."
Olivia laughed, a bitter, half-mad laugh. Then she gagged, and a little more vomit dribbled from her chin.